Bound By Darkness
by DecorusSomnium
Summary: Six months after Buffy’s death, and some people are having trouble with coping. But Sirius is plagued with dreams that he believes to be a message from the fallen Slayer. But is she really fallen? Or just…misplaced? Sequel to Bound by Loyalty. Btvs/HP.
1. Fall For You

Title: Bound by Darkness

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Six months after Buffy's death, and some people are having trouble with coping. As they try to move on with their lives, Sirius is plagued with dreams that he believes to be a message from the fallen Slayer. But is she really fallen? Or just…misplaced?

Disclaimer: I don't own any of them. Buffy goes to Whedon, and Harry and everybody in the Potter-verse go to Rowling. If you don't recognize anyone, they're probably mine. I do own the plot, though. Don't sue. Please.

A/N: This is set about six months after Buffy's funeral. This is a sequel to Bound by Loyalty. I suggest you read that before you continue with this story, as it could get rather confusing. Let me know what you think!

"_My tears run down like razor blades,_

_And no, I'm not the one to blame, it's you,_

_Or is it me?_

_And all the words we never say come out, _

_And now we're all ashamed and there's no sense in playing games,_

_When you've done all you can do."_

_-Secondhand Serenade_

* * *

Chapter One: Fall For You

The rain still drizzled in a steady downpour from the near black skies. It had been a continuous torrential of water for more than a week. Sirius hadn't seen any hint of the sky in all that time.

It was fine with him. He was more than content to sit by his window and watch. The turmoil outside had nothing on what he felt inside his own mind.

_Six months, three days and 16 hours._

It felt like a lifetime. Probably because he had barely slept during those six months.

_Six months, three days and 17 hours._

It was still raining.

_Six months, three days and 18 hours._

There was no end to it. It was almost as if God himself was pouring his sorrow and anger onto the world, trying to drown out the dirt and debris.

_Six months, three days and 19 hours._

Sirius felt the first pay of hunger, but he ignored it and decided that food could wait. He had his own misery to deal with.

_Six months, three days and 20 hours._

Harry was there again. He could feel his Godson watch him with concern.

"Sirius, please. Eat something. Get up," Harry pleaded, to no avail.

It was the same as always. His Godson begging him to go out, go eat, take a shower, do _something_, anything to show that he was still left with some life in him.

The problem with that, though, was that he really didn't think he had much life left in him. But for Harry's sake, he was going to at least pretend. So he got up and went downstairs with him, slightly dizzy from lack of proper nutrition and sleep.

_Six months, three days and 22 hours._

With a stomach full of food, Sirius returned to his seat by the window two hours later. Not much had changed. The rain had let off a little, but it was still coming down at a steady pace. The sky was a little less gray.

His heart was still full of despair.

_Six months, three days and 23 hours._

The rain had almost stopped. The world was drenched, but the rain was almost at an end. Sirius did not want it to end. He felt as if he was able to connect with the world more when it was raining, because rain inspired a feeling of sadness. And these days, he was so full of sadness.

_Six months, four days._

Six months, four days since he had lost her.

And everyday felt like it lasted forever.

* * *

Harry could admit that he was worried about Sirius. How could he not be? He could practically see Sirius wasting away, if not in body then in mind. While he barely ate, he still had fits of violence that he had to exercise by hitting a punching bag. Repeatedly. Harry could tell he barely slept. There were rings of exhaustion around his eyes, his skin has an unnatural paleness to it.

He tried, God knew he did. He went to see him everyday, tried to rouse him out of his usual stupor. It didn't help that his house had never really been redecorated, so the walls were void of any semblance of life. Harry felt depressed just be being in the house for longer than ten minutes.

It was the middle of June, and while the weather had not been to sunny lately, he could tell the rain was letting off, leading to the start of a beautiful summer. He needed to get Sirius out, needed to give him some fresh air. He needed to stop him from going to her grave everyday. It was slowly killing him inside.

Harry hadn't mentioned her name in a long time. Whenever someone dared to speak it, it set Sirius off in a rage. So they had all stopped saying it.

He stepped through the fireplace into the living room at Sirius' house. Coughing once, he looked around and frowned at the lack of color, at the lack of anything interesting. This was Sirius. He had had such great plans for this place. Harry was supposed to be living here now, this was supposed to be their place.

But he hadn't been able to take it after the first month. He knew Sirius needed him, and he did the best he could, but he couldn't stay in this place everyday and feel as if he were intruding on Sirius' personal time. His Godfather had agreed, and he had promised that he would get his act together after a few months of mourning, and everything would be better.

But it had been six months, and nothing was better.

And Harry had to do something about it. He marched up to Sirius' bedroom, not even bothering to knock, and opened the door. He was right where Harry had expected him to be; in bed with the curtains drawn. Rolling his eyes, Harry jerked the curtain open, and the sun spilled into the room, illuminating the dust and disarray.

Harry was dismayed to see the state of his room. Clothes were littering the floor, and he could smell the faint odor of unclean and sweat. He was guessing that Sirius hadn't taken a shower in quite some time.

"Get up," he said commandingly.

Sirius just stared at him before drawing his blanket up over his head.

Sighing, Harry reached over, grabbed the blanket, and yanked it off Sirius. "Get up Sirius," he repeated, and he was rewarded with a blank stare. "Please, just get up. I understand that you don't feel like getting up, but you need to. You need to go outside, get some air. You need to shower, for God's sake!"

Sirius didn't react.

"You need to stop moping around in self-pity, Sirius. She's gone. She's gone and she's not coming back."

His Godfather sat up and leveled angry eyes on him, but Harry didn't back down. "You've been sitting in here for sis months, and enough is enough. Buffy is dead, and you need to-" Harry was cut off by Sirius springing out of bed to stand in front of him.

"Don't. Say. Her. Name," Sirius said between clenched teeth.

"Why not Sirius? Huh? Because it hurts you to hear it? Well it hurts me too."

Sirius laughed mirthlessly. "I'm sure it does Harry. You seem very saddened to me."

Harry stared at him in disbelief. What? "You think that because I'm not sitting in my room, being depressed and melancholy, I don't care? What the bloody hell is the matter with you?"

"Harry, just leave me alone," Sirius said, sighing in defeat and turning back to his bed. Harry grabbed his arm to prevent him from leaving.

"No, Sirius. No. I'm done with leaving you alone. I loved her too! Did you ever stop to think about how I might feel about this. She died for me. For me, Sirius. She died saving me. I had dreams, every night, about her dying in front of me, and there was nothing I could do. There's nothing I _can _do." He felt the tears coming, felt them burning at his eyes. "We all loved her, Sirius. I did, the Weasley's did, even Snape did for God's sake. We all mourned her, cried for her. But enough is enough."

Sirius hung his head, his hands covering his face. When he looked up again, Harry had stepped away and was watching out the window. "Harry," he began, but he didn't know what to say.

"We miss her. We all do. We still cry sometimes. But you're letting it take over your life. Is this what she would have wanted?" Harry asked, sweeping the room with his arm. Sirius shook his head, a silent denial. "No. She would have told you stop moping, to thank God you were still alive, and to take a shower," he told him, hoping to inspire a smile.

He was rewarded with a slight turning of lips. It was better than nothing, and more honest than any he had seen from his Godfather in a long while. Harry stepped forward and embraced Sirius.

"I think about her every night," Sirius said, drawing back. "I dream, and sometimes they are good dreams. I don't want to face it Harry. I don't want to go out and see the world moving on, and she's not here to live in it. I'm afraid I'm going to forget her." He paused, looking down hopelessly. Harry didn't said anything, wanting Sirius to keep talking, no matter how painful it was to say or hear.

"I loved her with everything inside of me. I didn't realize until that night. She had everything of me, and I was unable to tell her. I wanted so bad to tell her that she completed my soul. And now she's gone. Harry, I don't know what to do. I don't know how I can keep myself from joining her."

"God, Sirius. Don't talk like that. Don't you realize that there are still people here who need you? I need you Sirius! Remember, it was going to be me and you. We were going to change up this house. Become a family. I need a family Sirius. I can't lose you. Not like I lost my parents. Not like I lost Buffy. I need you." Harry was breathing heavily, fear in his heart. "Please, Sirius, let it go. Come outside with me. Decorate the house with me."

Sirius stared at him for a moment, feeling a weight on him greater than before. He knew Harry was right, he felt it inside, but it hurt too much to think about going on without her. Like he was betraying her. But he knew that Buffy wouldn't have wanted him to be sad like this, to give up everything and give in.

She had been strong, stronger than he had realized. And he wanted to be strong for her.

Later on that day, he visited her grave. Instead of sitting there like he normally did, he began to talk to her. And slowly, he began to feel more peace than he had felt in a very long time catch up to him.

The next day, he didn't visit her grave at all, and the Weasley's were all very happy to welcome him into their home.

* * *

A/N: Well, what do you think?

Worth continuing or should I just stop now?


	2. How the Mighty Have Fallen

Title: Bound by Darkness

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Six months after Buffy's death, and some people are having trouble with coping. As they try to move on with their lives, Sirius is plagued with dreams that he believes to be a message from the fallen Slayer. But is she really fallen? Or just…misplaced?

Disclaimer: I don't own any of them. Buffy goes to Whedon, and Harry and everybody in the Potter-verse go to Rowling. If you don't recognize anyone, they're probably mine. I do own the plot, though. Don't sue. Please.

A/N: Thanks to all you wonderful reviewers!

"Put on you're brake lights,

You're in the city of wonder.

No need to think twice,

Because you might just go under.

So if you must falter be wise,

Your minds in disturbia."

-Rihanna, Disturbia

* * *

Chapter 2: The Mighty Have Fallen

It was everything he could do not to grab her lifeless body and shake her, shake her until she opened her eyes and laughed at the great joke she had played on the world, on him.

There was so much blood.

Red snow. White snow. It was supposed to be pure, but it was tainted, it was all tainted with her life's blood.

Her golden hair lay across the ground, her ashen face beautiful. He couldn't move away from her, none of them could. They were crying, some silent tears, others had sobs wracking their bodies.

He wasn't. He felt rage build up inside of him as he looked at her still body, at the smear of blood on her cheek, the trail of red leading from her side. He felt queasy, sick to his stomach. He felt sad, but he didn't break down, couldn't break down.

Not in front of saint Potter.

Not in front of the great Sirius.

No weakness.

Instead, he felt frustrated and angry, and knew she would have approved. They had been alike in that way. They got angry as opposed to being sad. They felt violence, for lack of a better word.

He took a step back, not wanting to face the surreal scene again. He knew this was a dream, how could he not? He was too stuck in reality to be fooled by the memories his brain kept throwing at him while he slept.

It was always the same. She was always laying there, there was always so much blood, too much blood for her small body. Everything was exactly as he remembered, with him standing silently aside, face an emotionless mask. Black and Potter kneeling at her side, tears coursing down their cheeks, bleakness in their eyes.

He didn't fault them for their pain, didn't think them weak. They had loved her, and they had lost her.

He heaved a great sigh and turned from it all, stepping back and raising an eyebrow when he saw a duplicate of himself stay in place. Frowning, he looked around in confusion. It had never gone on this long. He had always been able to wake himself from the dream by moving from the spot he had taken in real life.

Instead, a second, still Snape stood in his place, face still an emotionless mask. Everything else froze. Blacks hand was pushed against her side, the desperation on his face frozen, his mouth open in silent words. Potter was next to him, face dazed and hopeless, broken.

Off to the side, he could see more members of the Order, some paused in the act of rushing forward, others had their faces buried in their hands, some just turned away in sadness. They hadn't known her like the rest of them did.

Curious as to why the dream was taking him in this direction, he stepped a bit closer to her body and looked down at her. There was a slight trickle of blood coming out of the side of her mouth. He frowned. He didn't remember that part.

His eye caught something shiny off to the side, and he turned his head, gaze landing on the knife that had killed her. He took a few steps before he reached it and he bent down to pick it up. It wouldn't budge. He crouched down next to it and looked at the small object that had brought the greatest Slayer down.

They knew it wasn't just the blade that had killed her, but the weapon itself. A regular knife wouldn't have made her bleed so much, wouldn't have killed her so quickly. The poison on the blade did that. The curse this knife held was enough.

They all still wondered where it had come from. She had had it on her when she had tried to kill Voldemort. But it had been lost for centuries, no one knew where it had disappeared. She didn't know its history, didn't know what it stood for.

Once again he wished that she had said something, brought it to their attention that she had found it. But he didn't blame her. It was in her nature to keep secrets. She hadn't known, and now she was dead.

Straightening to a stand, he shot one last glance at the knife and turned back to the scene. He paused, breath catching in his throat.

Someone was standing there, someone who hadn't been there before. Long blonde hair trailed down a slender back, a loose cream colored dress brushed the ground. It was her. But it couldn't be, because she was laying on the ground, blood pooling around her body, and yet it was her. She was standing still, as if she too were frozen in that moment.

He took a hesitant step forward, the thought that this was a trap crossing his mind before he dismissed it. This was his dream, after all. His mind playing tricks on him. It wasn't real, she wasn't real. She was dead.

He stopped by her side and looked at Buffy, the alive Buffy, not the dead one. The fake Buffy. She was staring down at her body on the ground, a frown gracing her delicate features. He reached a hand out to touch a smooth shoulder, wondering why his mind was doing this to him. Why it had to lie to him this way, tease him.

She looked up at his touch and he quickly dropped his hand and took a step back.

"This isn't right," she said, frowning once again and looking at her body.

"What?" He asked in a whisper before clearing his throat. "What?" He asked again, in a louder voice, looking at her small body on the ground, the two people kneeling at her side, his body standing off to the side. It was all too eerie.

"Me. I'm not right. Her, " she pointed at her body, then herself. "Me."

"You're dead, Buffy," he said, looking at her. "You're dead," he repeated, as if he were trying to convince not only her but himself.

She laughed then, and it was the laugh he remembered, so fresh in his mind he closed his eyes against the pain. "Don't be silly Sev," she told him. "You know it never sticks. I always come back," she said matter-of-factly.

Severus frowned, looking at her hand, which had come to rest on top of Black's head. They were all still frozen in place, and she was still dead. "I don't understand," he cried out, desperation clogging his voice.

"No matter," Buffy said, sighing. "You'll understand soon. But…it isn't over. It's never over. He may be gone, but something always takes its place. You'll remember, won't you?" She asked, turning to him.

He nodded silently, confused.

She smiled, but it was a sad smile. "I have to go." She turned and began to walk away, and he tried to yell at her to stop, but the words wouldn't come, they were stuck in his throat. She stopped and turned to him, the smile still in place, but a little less sad, as if she knew a secret he didn't. "Do you remember that talk we had, that one day at Hogsmeade?"

He nodded again, and felt stupid.

"I meant everything I said, Sev. You're a good teacher, a good person. Teach what you want them to know, show them everything you have to offer as a person. Don't be afraid."

She took a step further away before stopping again. This time, instead of turning to him, she bent down and grasped the knife in her hand. She stood up straight and looked at him.

"I don't think you should do that," he warned, though he didn't know why.

She moved her eyes from his face to look at Black, and she once again smiled gently. "Tell him I love him."

She simply…fell away, for lack of a better tem. As if she hadn't even existed. He felt a tug and found himself laying in bed, eyes wide open, breathing heavily.

Standing up, he threw on a robe and shoes before rushing from the dungeons to the office of Albus Dumbledore.

Outside a storm raged, and lightening cut though the sky.

__

"Don't be afraid."

Her voice followed him, her last words haunted him.

* * *

It wasn't long after Severus told Albus of his dream that they discovered the knife was gone. It had been wrapped in a golden cloth and tied with a piece of unbreakable string. All that was left was the string.

"Where could if have gone?" Severus asked the Headmaster, showing his confusion.

Albus sighed tiredly, sitting behind his desk once again. "I do not know Severus. The mysteries of that knife are not well known. Yes, it can kill, as we have seen, but the secrets that lie behind that deadly blade are its own to know."

"Albus, does this mean that it was true, that my dream was true?" Severus looked at him, his face once again an unreadable mask, refusing to feel anything.

"It could have meant anything, Severus. It could have been trickery of the mind, of an outside being. We can't know for sure, not until something happens, not until we can prove that it was really her." He rubbed his eyes, and Fawkes came flying over, landing on his shoulder and rubbing her head against his cheek. He smiled at her tenderly.

"Do we tell the others?" Severus asked, meaning the Order and, more specifically, Black and Potter.

Dumbledore shook his head no. "Not yet. Not until we know. We can't get their hopes up, not when they have finally started to breathe easier. If we tell them, only to find out that it is not truth, then I don't know how well they can recover again. It was a devastating loss, one that I'm sure many of us are still dealing with. No, we shall keep it to ourselves."

Severus nodded and stood up, turning to make his way out of the room.

"Oh, and Severus?" He stopped and looked at Albus. "If you have anymore…strange occurrences, you will let me know, correct?"

The Potions Professor nodded before leaving the room, and a troubled Headmaster, behind.

End Part.

Let me know what you think!


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